First Kiss
by Luciferine
Summary: An alternate take of the events that unfolded during 'Joel's Birthday', set about halfway through that story. Grieving and a little drunk on the anniversary of the Outbreak, Joel very nearly ruins everything. Ellie takes it upon herself to prove him wrong. Cross-posted from Tumblr. Joel/Ellie


**AN: Exactly what it says on the tin. This started out as more of a personal challenge, and I was never, ever, ****_under any circumstances_**** gonna post it. But six thousand words, some significant convincing, and a fair few hyperventilations later, I figured I'd just post the damn thing, and whoever wanted to read it could read it. So. Yes. For those of you who still haven't grasped it. This contains EllieandJoel. Kissing. In a manner meant to be perceived as romantic. (Don't look at me like that, you all know I ship it and you're still here). It's roughly based on one of the SOTM one-shots I wrote, 'Joel's Birthday', as a sort of AU, 'what if' scenario, which is why it starts up so abruptly. It is not, however, part of the SOTM canon in any way. Warnings for age differences and underage and all that stuff. **

"Feels like longer, huh? Feels like forever," he mutters, and she's not entirely sure he's talking to her anymore. He reaches over, hand brushing her cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she forgets she's supposed to be angry. They stay frozen like that for a moment, both lost in thought.

Joel's hand is warm against the side of her face, eyes roaming over her features as if he's not sure she's real.

He starts to lean in, agonizingly slow, and somewhere in the short-circuiting recesses of her mind she realizes what's about to happen. His eyes are still hazy from the booze, but she can still make out the vulnerability in them, the pain. She feels an answering ache break loose in her chest, and her hands suddenly itch to hold him. Her limbs feel heavy, though, like she's made of stone, so she can only sit there and watch, stupefied.

His hand trembles on her skin, and she wonders if it's nerves or inebriation that causes his unsteadiness. She's not expecting the sudden clarity to flash across his face, stopping him just inches from her. Something in her gut -not her gut, _lower_- twists and aches in disappointment and she bites back a whimper. His hand leaves her face abruptly, and it's only when she notices it's perfectly steady that she realizes she's the one shaking,

"Ellie?" he murmurs her name, and something like horror is creeping across his face. She tries to open her mouth, to reassure him -to tell him to keep going- but all that comes out is a pitiful squeak. She's seen Joel move when he's motivated, knows how fast he can be, but she's never seen him get to his feet and cross a room as quickly as he does now, an agonized, "_Fuck_," ringing in the silence.

He strides toward the front door, and she works fervently to find her voice before he leaves. He sways, unsteady on his feet, bracing himself with one hand against the wall. He thumps his head against it; once, twice, three times before he's still. "Joel?" she whispers, finally finding her voice.

"Fuck," he grinds out once more, and she wonders if he even heard her. "I'm sorry. _Christ_, Ellie. I'm so sorry. I don't know what..." He exhales loudly, thumping his head again. "I'm goin' to Tommy's," he says abruptly, hand already on the doorknob before she can think of an appropriate response.

"No!" She trips over her own feet trying to get to him, hand closing over his arm just as he's slipping out. "Don't," she manages, eyes wide. "Don't go." He doesn't look at her as he tries to tug himself free. She latches on tighter. If he wants to shake her off, he's going to have to try a lot harder than that.

"Ellie," he begins, and fuck, she can _hear_ how deep he's hurting.

"It's okay," she says, voice too urgent for her words to be soothing. "It's fine, just don't go. Please, I just got you back." She pulls the final plea out as a last-ditch effort, and she nearly blacks out from relief as he slumps over in defeat.

Joel goes back inside, half-dragging her with him. "It's not fine," he mutters as he shuts the door. "It's not," he repeats grimly.

She shakes her head, hard enough to rattle her teeth as she tries to drag him back to the cots. "Don't be an idiot. Of course it's fine, just sit down..." Desperation colors her voice and she cringes at how fucking helpless she sounds and how stupid she must look, clinging to Joel like she'll fall over without him. She does her best to herd him back towards the cot. He shuffles obediently, looking anywhere but at her. "Sit down," she mutters. "You're still pretty slammed."

"You don't have to make excuses for me," he tells her quietly as he sits. She frowns in confusion, sitting beside him as he continues, "It don't matter that I'm drunk off my ass, it don't matter that I'm more of a goddamn mess than usual. You got that?" His tone hardens on the last part, expression deadly serious as he finally looks at her. His expression is pained, and she finds herself at a complete loss. "Ellie." He seems intent on an answer.

"I..." she trails off, unable to form a response. He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he begins to get up. Panic fills her once more; she doesn't know _why_, but some part of her is sure that she'll never see him again if she lets him walk away. "I get it, okay? I get it!" She has no idea what it is she's supposed to get, but she'll say whatever he wants to hear if it'll make him stay.

She moves on instinct, desperate to keep him beside her. She grabs his shoulders, but misjudges the distance and ends up losing her balance and stumbling onto his lap instead. _That_ seems to get his attention. "Ellie," he begins, but doesn't finish. They stare at each other, wide-eyed and tongue-tied for a long stretch.

She's vaguely aware that she should get off him, but she doesn't move. Part of it is that she's worried he'll bolt the second she does -he won't try it now; he'd have to shove her off and he wouldn't do that-, but a bigger part of it lies in the warmth that licks up from the spaces where they're touching. From where her legs bracket his hips, from where her hands are bunched into the muscles of his shoulders that tense and relax under her touch. The warmth flows through her whole body, settling sweet and heavy in her gut.

It feels _good, _natural. Easy like breathing, even though she feels like she can't get enough air in right now. It makes a strange sort of sense, she supposes. They fit. They always have.

He's staring at her still, and there's something in his eyes that makes her heart hurt. She doesn't know the name for it, and when he looks away she tilts her head to try and get another look, curiosity getting the better of her. They're close enough -that it hurts her- that even though he won't look at her face she can still see his eyes flicker to the curve of her neck and the slant of her collarbone and- _oh._ His eyes lock on hers, and now it's like it was before, when his hand was in her hair and she was so sure he would...

She closes her eyes. Her skin buzzes with something that might be adrenaline but definitely isn't fear, and she forces herself not to shake under the intensity of it all.

It's not supposed to feel like this. _Nothing _is supposed to feel like this, not in the world they live in. She wants him with her, wants him _close_, so badly her skin might split with the emotion she's holding in.

"Don't," Joel says. She opens her eyes, sees him clench his jaw hard enough she can hear the grind, watches him turn his head, like he can't bear to look at her.

"Joel?" Her hands slacken on his shoulders, unsure.

"You don't have to..." He breathes deep, and she feels it rattle through him. It sounds painful. She wonders if he _wants_ it to hurt. "Christ, Ellie. You don't have to do that." He grimaces, like the words are bitter coming out. "You don't have to _let me_ do that." She must look incredibly stupid, blinking slowly at him, mouth half-open with confusion. "You know that, don't you? That I'd never make you..." He's looking at her now, his expression so deeply pained that she can't even begin to guess how to fix it. Her silence seems to answer his question, and his eyes tighten. "Oh, _god_."

She's still silent -her mind still reeling- as his hands come to rest on her hips. There's a moment when her brain shuts off, and all she can register is _warmth_, the overwhelming feeling of _this is right_. She doesn't mean to make a sound, but it escapes anyways; a hitched, breathy little thing that has her burning up with shame the moment it's out. Joel goes as still as stone, and is she imagining his fingers jolting like she's burned him?

"I'm sorry," he mutters finally, and then there's gentle pressure on her hips and she realizes she's being pushed off, or as close to it as Joel will ever let it get. Some insane part of her wants to resist, wants to press up against him even as he's pushing her away. She suppresses the urge, barely, and lets herself slide back onto the cot. "I'm sorry," he says again, the cot creaking worryingly as his fingers dig into it. She watches mutely as the skin stretches and whitens over his knuckles. She reaches out to pry his hand away, irrationally afraid he'll hurt himself.

Her fingers have barely brushed his when suddenly he's on his feet again, jerking away from her touch like it's causing him pain. _That_ hurts, the rejection hitting her like a punch to the gut.

"You... you can sleep here. You should. I'm gonna... I'm headin' out," he informs her with his back still to her. "I'll figure somethin' out with Tommy and... you should stay here. You've moved around enough."

"What?" she asks, because she doesn't know how else to respond. Her concern mounts with every moment of his silence. Her voice is sharp with the beginnings of panic when she asks, "Figure _what_ out, Joel? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I can't stay here." Just like that. Like it's the simplest thing in the world. Something tears itself apart in her chest and she has to fight the urge to choke on the pain.

"Why the _fuck_ not?" Anger pulses through her, a welcome relief to her anxiety. It's easier to be angry, to yell, then to think about what he just said; to absorb what that means.

"You know why, Ellie." He sounds exhausted, like he's explained himself countless times and that's not fucking _fair _ because he hasn't explained to her _once_ what's going on.

"No, I don't! Maybe if you would fucking talk to me I could understand!" She can feel tears burning behind her eyes, her throat aching as she forces them back. She wants more than anything to get up and go after him, but she's terrified she'll spook him if she does. "Joel, _please,_" she pleads with him, anger receding when he doesn't respond, when she realizes how close to the edge she's treading. "Just tell me why. I don't understand."

He flinches, a full-body movement that surprises her in its violence. "You don't-?" He cuts himself off with a violent shake of his head, turning abruptly to face her. "The hell d'you mean, _you don't understand_? I was gonna..." He swallows, like whatever he's about to say is making him sick. "Christ, Ellie. I was gonna... " _Kiss me, _she thinks to herself, the words echoing deafeningly inside her head. She knows he won't say the words; she knows him, knows how his head works, and there's no way he'll put words to what just -nearly- happened.

"Yeah," she agrees softly, watching the self-loathing crawl across his face. She knows it's stupid, but she almost thought... she thought she chased that away. She thought he was... if not happier with himself, then at least better off then he was when they first met. Her chest hurts at the sight. She wants him to smile at her again, wants him laughing or groaning at her jokes or _something_, _anything_ that's not... this.

That's what gives her the courage, in the end. Seeing Joel hurt over something so _fixable_ pushes at something inside of her, makes her vocal chords finally start up again. "Yeah, you were," she mutters. He hangs his head, tense like he's bracing himself for a beating. Hell, maybe that's what he's expecting. He probably thinks she should punch him square in the jaw, or something. "So?" It comes out a hell of a lot more casual than she would have expected. She has a handful of seconds to take pride in that before the word registers with Joel.

At first, she thinks she's shocked him speechless. He stares, mouth agape. He makes a sound that might be meant as a response. He clears his throat, eyes locking on hers. "What?"

"What, you going deaf now, too?" she teases, the words falling flat as her voice trembles on the last word. He doesn't respond, staring at her almost like... almost like he's afraid, and that doesn't make any sense, she _knows_ it doesn't but she can't even think about it because if she does, she'll lose her nerve. No, more than that. She'll lose him, lose everything. She steps towards him slowly, not sure what to expect. He rocks back on his heels, like he's going to back away, but at the last moment he stops, stands still in front of her.

"Might be," he says. "That, or goin' crazy." She would laugh, nearly does, but he looks so deadly serious that the sound dies in her throat.

"You said that you were gonna," she reminds him, inching forward slowly so she doesn't startle him as she continues, "and I said that yeah, you were. And then I said, 'so?' That pretty much covers it up to now."

"Ellie..." He still hasn't backed up, and she wonders how close he'll let her get before he moves.

She feels... not brave, exactly, but something close enough to it that she doesn't let his warning phase her. "Yeah?" she asks, like things are normal, like they're just talking the way they always do. Like their faces weren't just inches from each other; like she wasn't just settled on his lap and his hands weren't just on her hips.

"I can't stay," he says again, but the words sound different this time; desperate, like he needs to her to understand.

"Why?" It's not difficult to let some of her own desperation leak into her words. "You said you wouldn't leave without me." It's risky, mentioning those words, drudging up the memories of where they were when he said them, of where they were heading.

Guilt flashes across his face as he mutters, "It's different."

"How the hell is it different?" she asks, fighting to keep her tone even. "Huh, Joel? You said you wouldn't leave me. It means just as much now as it did then."

"Yeah, well I ain't exactly known for keepin' my word, am I? I lie. You know that, Ellie. Better than most," he growls, expression shifting into something that's likely meant to be anger. She doesn't think she's imagining the hurt flashing behind his eyes, though.

"Don't," she tells him quietly, shaking her head. _Don't pull that bullshit with me. It didn't work then, it won't work now._

"Why the fuck not?" he counters. He sounds so bitter, so dark, the harshness nearly dragging her back to when they were new to each other, when they were both afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of, though. She knows that now. For all his sharp words, for all the violence that radiates off of him, there's nothing about Joel to inspire fear in her, except for the times she's nearly lost him. _That_ is fear like she's never experienced before or since. His half-hearted attempts to push her away have absolutely _nothing _on that.

"Tell me why it's different this time," she says, ignoring his question completely. She can already see him closing himself off and she curses internally. She has a worryingly short window to get this right. "Listen, if you tell me, you can walk right out that door and never come back, if that's what you still want. I won't stop you." She's fiercely proud that her voice doesn't shake once, even though the words feel like they're slicing her throat as they come out.

"I could still walk out right now," he reasons. She tries not to let her alarm show outwardly. He's right, of course he's right. There's no way in hell she'll be able to stop him if he really wants out.

"Yeah, you could," she admits, saying with a lot more confidence than she feels, "but you won't."

There's an unbearable moment where he doesn't say a word. "But I won't." He heaves a sigh, staying where he is. If her next exhale is just a little shaky, neither of them comment on it. "I'm sorry."

"Would you _please_ stop saying that?" She's never heard him apologize for anything as much as he has in the last few moments. Hell, she can count on one hand the number of times he's said it since she's known him. There were times she would've killed for an apology out of him, but now that she has more than she could ever need, they don't sit well with her. "You haven't done anything to be sorry about."

"I've made a right mess of things," he mutters, passing a hand over his face. She starts to protest, but he raises his free hand in a silencing gesture. "Let me say my piece, alright?" Her stomach twists anxiously, but she nods nonetheless. This is what she wanted, isn't it? For him to talk. "I've done a lot of shit I ain't proud of. I know that ain't news to you, but you gotta know that I'd never..." He trails off, swallowing heavily. He looks at her with that same creeping horror as before. "I'd _never_ hurt you. _That_, back there... I wasn't in my right mind. Ain't any sort of excuse, I know, but I'm sorry, so _fucking_ sorry. If you want me gone, I understand. I'll... head back to Boston, or somethin'.It don't matter where."

"You mean you'll get yourself killed _trying_ to get back to Boston or wherever the hell you run away to," she interrupts sharply. "It's suicide, heading out on your own like that. You _know_ that, Joel." There's a long stretch of silence where he doesn't meet her gaze, and suddenly she gets it. "You know. Oh, _god_. You know and you don't care."

"If you want me gone, I'll go," he repeats. His face may as well be made of stone for all the expression he shows. She's shaking her head before he's halfway through the sentence. She tries to ignore the chill that comes over her at the sound of his voice. Not defeated, exactly, but resigned; accepting in a way that twists her gut to the point of pain.

"No." She barely recognizes her own voice, the words sounding strange and hoarse to her ears. He seems surprised, either by her words or her tone. "I don't want you gone, okay? I want you to stay." He looks genuinely shocked, the emotion breaking whatever mask he just wore and letting her see the pain underneath.

She takes advantage of his momentary silence to speak. "I know you'd never hurt me. You're not," _David_, she thinks, the name sticking in her throat, "like that. I know you, dumbass. I _trust_ you." She's purposefully keeping her voice soft, but he flinches like she's shouting at the top of her lungs.

"You shouldn't," he tells her quietly. "I ain't no better."

It's her turn to flinch now, words failing her for a moment as she stares incredulously at him."Is that really what you think?" No answer. "_Fuck that_."

She closes the gap between them so that they're toe-to-toe. He starts to step back, tense like he's going to run or snap or _something_. _He's afraid_, she realizes. That's fine, because _she_ isn't. Not of him, _never_ of him, and she's going to get that through his thick skull if it's the last thing she ever does.

(And if she fails, if he walks out, _if he dies because of this_, then it might be).

She grabs both his hands and pulls him forward again, relieved when he doesn't resist again. "You want to make yourself fucking miserable? _Fine_. But don't you dare act like... like you're _bad_ for me, or whatever the fuck you tell yourself in that _stupid_ head of yours. You don't get to nearly fucking kiss me," she doesn't let him pull away as she voices it, holding onto his hands for dear life, "and then threaten to run away and _die_ because you're scared. You wanna chicken out? _Fine_. But you don't get to compare yourself to... don't get to tell me you're dangerous, not now... not when I've already... when I already..."

Her words trail off, and as she loses them she loses her nerve, dropping her gaze. She doesn't need to look at his face to know she's fucked it all up, that she lost her gamble. She releases her death-grip, letting his hands slide away from hers. She turns, bone-tired and near tears, and walks back to her cot. She sits heavily, hearing the creak as she hits the cot.

She ducks her head and shuts her eyes, waiting for the sound of the slamming door to tell her it's all over.

It never comes.

She hears footsteps, instead, coming toward her. She holds her breath -barely daring to hope- and waits. She feels the cot dip under his weight, and even though he isn't touching her she can still feel his warmth and smell the faint whiff of whiskey on him. "Ellie," he says, so quietly that she almost thinks she imagined it.

"If you apologize one more time, I swear to God, Joel." She doesn't bother finishing the threat, knowing full well she'd never go through with it. She feels him shift -not fidget, Joel doesn't _fidget_, does he?- beside her.

"You were shakin," he mutters gravely, "shakin' under my hands like a fuckin' leaf." She looks up at him to find he's staring blankly at the far wall.

His hand is curling in the blankets again, white-knuckles threatening to burst through the skin. She lays her hand immediately beside his; not touching, but enough to let him know she's here. He doesn't let go, but he relaxes just a bit. At least, his joints don't seem to be in any immediate danger of tearing.

"Before," he begins, and then barks out something too bitter to be a laugh, "you were lookin' at me like... like I was somethin', and for a second -just one goddamn second- I thought you mighta wanted me to. The booze made me brave, but I didn't do it 'cause of that. I woulda done it 'cause I wanted to." He hangs his head, looking like the whole world just rolled to a stop on his shoulders. "You... you shoulda seen your face, like you were bracin' to get hit. Makin' these sounds, like I was hurtin' you."

His voice sounds scraped raw, and before she can stop herself she's moving her hand the half-inch or so to meet his. He doesn't move away, not then and not when she edges closer so their shoulders are touching. "You weren't," she tells him. "You weren't hurting me," she says in response to the confusion on his face. She's blushing now, which really isn't helping her case much but she can't help it. "I mean, I was confused at first but... yeah. _Definitely_ not hurting." Her face feels like it's on fire, but she forces herself to meet his gaze again.

His eyes are dark and his expression unreadable. "You don't owe me nothin'; you know that, don't you? You don't have to say that if you don't mean it."

"Want me to swear on it?" she asks, the corners of her mouth unexpectedly turning upwards. He shoots her a lock of mock exasperation, and the tension eases, just a little. They're themselves again; just EllieandJoel. He shakes his head, just once, a small answering smile on his lips. "I mean it, Joel," she says, only a little louder than a whisper.

She knows she probably shouldn't push it. They're okay now; he's not going anywhere. She's sure of it. But... maybe they could be more than just 'okay'. She remembers touching him, remembers how good it felt.

(And a not-so-little part of her thinks that he remembers, too).

Right on cue, his eyes are on her again. It's hard to breathe again, but not the choking panic of _he's gonna leave oh god please don't go_. He's looking at her the way he did before, somewhere between hunger and desperation. "Now would probably be a good time to mention this ain't nowhere near right." It's not an outright refusal, though, and that makes her grin a little wider.

"I dunno," she muses with a nonchalance she definitely doesn't feel, "feels pretty right to me." She bumps his shoulder with hers, earning her another half-smile from him. She expects him to deflect, or to shut her down firmly and take them back to where they were before today.

(Thing is, Joel has a bit of a knack for surprising her for the better).

"Yeah?" He leans forward so that their foreheads are just barely touching. The smile doesn't falter, but something serious creeps into his expression and she recognizes his question for what it really is_. You sure? _

One last chance to back out and laugh it off as another stupid joke. She doesn't answer him right away, not because she's not _sure_, but because she knows he needs to _know_ that she is.

(She thinks about Riley -about that quick press of their lips and the nightmare that followed, about _needing_ to find a cure to absolve herself of that guilt-, about everyone she's lost -Tess and Sam and Henry and Marlene and _Mom_-, about hacking a monster to pieces and bruises around her neck. She thinks of _'I swear,' _and _'I ain't leavin' without you.' 'You keep findin' somethin' to fight for,'_ and _'I'm not letting you go.'_ She thinks about him bleeding out through her fingers -remembers thinking, _if I lose him I'm lying down beside him and I _won't_ get back up-,_ about how there's nothing she wouldn't do to keep him breathing -even if it meant that she herself stopped-, how she'd do it all again a thousand times over -lose everyone, stain her hands bloody, turn her back on the cure _a thousand times over_- if it meant she could get back here, beside this man she never saw coming.

_Yeah, she's sure._)

But she doesn't say those things, because he _knows_, so instead she says, "Yeah." Her smile is stretching wide enough that it should hurt. It doesn't; nothing could, not now. His hand curls over her cheek and she leans into his touch easily.

(She has a handful of seconds to be nervous; not of this, of him, of _them_, but of having no fucking idea what she's doing. A handful of seconds, and then-_oh). _

His mouth is soft on hers, gentle like he always is with her now. Like she's fragile. For once, she _feels_ fragile, like she'll shatter to pieces if he pulls away.

(Of course he doesn't, because he's _Joel_ and he always knows what she needs).

She's making those soft, embarrassing noises again, but she feels Joel grinning against her mouth even as her face heats so she doesn't even try to stifle them. She feels a laugh unexpectedly building in her throat, and pulls away from him momentarily to let it out.

(Her stomach does _not_ flip at the sight of him when she pulls away, at how he follows her lips with his for a moment before he realizes what's happening. Nope. Not at all, and _definitely _not when his features twist just briefly into disappointment before he schools them back into place. That doesn't make her heart jump in her chest, or anything cheesy like that. Not one bit.

And maybe Joel's not the only one who's a little bit of a liar).

"Definitely not hurting," she says in response to his questioning look. Understanding crosses his face, and she catches a glimpse of the burning relief in his eyes before he hides it. A smile -slow and pleased and _oh god is she ever in trouble if the man's got a smile like that in his_ arsenal- crawls across his hums in acknowledgment, the sound vibrating through her and curling in her gut. His eyes are bright, with amusement and things she doesn't have names for yet -but she'll make him teach her every last one-, and he's looking at her like... what was it he'd said? Like she's _something_. Emotion hits her like a truck, and she pauses to swallow at the sudden lump in her throat.

"Alright?" he asks softly, pressing kisses to her cheek.

She nods slowly. "Yeah, I just..." She trails off, unable to find the right words. How can she explain all of this? The happiness that threatens to explode inside of her, the fear that she's dreaming this, that it's going to end, that he's going to disappear.

(She should've known not to worry).

"I know," he murmurs. "Me, too. S'alright. I gotcha."

And really, that is some infallible logic right there, so when his hands tangle in her hair she returns the favor and lets herself be pulled in for another kiss.

She ends up on his lap -she's a little smug when she realizes she was right; they _do_ fit together perfectly- and she has to bite back another laugh when he mutters something against her mouth that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for guidance.

(Lord help them _both_; she's not sure she'll ever want to move again).

If she was warm before, she's burning, now. His hand splayed over the small of her back isn't helping either -her shirt mine as well be non-existent for all it does; she can feel the heat from his palm burning her like a brand-, but when she comes up for air lightheaded, she's grateful for the balance it provides.

It feels better than anything has a right to, and she's dizzy with it, drunk off of it.

_Maybe not _just_ that_, she amends, because then Joel's tongue is whiskey-warm on hers and she feels it go straight to her head. Can you get drunk off of another person's mouth? Is second-hand intoxication even a thing?

She decides that it's definitely possible, but then she's thoroughly distracted by Joel's hands on her hips. Not pushing her away now, but pulling her close. She goes gladly, pressing up against him like she'd wanted to do so badly before.

His thumbs hitch just under her shirt, rubbing warm circles on the skin of her hips.

(She _finally_ gets what all the fuss is about. Those stupid teen novels had no idea what they were talking about).

Her earlier nerves still flutter around the edges of her thoughts -she hasn't _quite_ got the hang of moving her mouth perfectly, and when she tries to kiss him after they've both come up for air she accidentally bumps their noses together and he starts shaking with laughter and she's _mortified_ until he tilts his head and does it _properly_, effectively turning her thoughts to a mush that dribbles out of her ears- but Joel's the expert here and he seems to be having the time of his life, so she can't be failing too miserably.

She doesn't expect him to pull away and she makes several very strong sounds of protest -that aren't _whines_, dammit, she doesn't _whine_- when he does.

"Only got so much control, girl," he mutters, mouth resting against her temple. His voice is raspy, serious in the deep, low sort of way he uses sometimes. She huffs in disappointment. He chuckles quietly, but it sounds strained. "Yeah, I know. Don't make what I said any less true, though." It's a kind warning, but a warning nonetheless.

She almost says that it's okay, that he doesn't _need_ to stop. She has a bit of a bone to pick with his legendary iron-clad control at the best of times; this is a whole other matter. She wants to physically remove the parts of his brain that shout _responsibility_ and _morality_ and whatever the fuck else he's thinking. She gets as far as opening her mouth, but he's already shaking his head.

"You ain't budgin' me on this one, Ellie." She groans in frustration; she knows that tone well. He presses a quick kiss to her temple, as if to ease her disappointment, and then pulls back.

"I know," she sighs, leaning into him so she can rest her head on his shoulder. He tenses, and she tries to ignore the pain blooming in her chest as he does. _Back to normal, I guess, _she thinks bitterly. "What, am I only allowed to stay here if you're sticking your tongue down my throat?" She means to say it jokingly, but it comes out defensive. She winces, kicking herself internally and expecting him to dump her stupid ass on the cot and walk out. "I'm sorry," she says immediately, her hands digging into his arms, like she can anchor him to her, "I didn't mean it like..."

His hand trails up and down her back in a soothing motion. "'S okay. I know you didn't." She pulls back to look at him, unsure. He smiles reassuringly at her, curling a few strands of her hair around his fingers. "'Course you don't gotta move." He's still on edge as he says it, though, his eyes still tight, and she frowns.

"No, it's okay. It's fine. I can, um, go back to my cot. That's... that's cool. No big deal." She forces herself to let go of his arms, trying not to acknowledge the tears burning behind her eyes. _It's fine, _she tells herself, _no reason to cry about it, idiot. Did you honestly think he'd want to cuddle, or whatever the hell you were trying to pull? It was just making out, for fuck's sakes. Letting off steam. It's not like you banged, or anything. It's fine. _And it is, mostly. Fine. What just happened was more than she could ever have hoped for. If that's all she gets, if he wants to leave it at that, then she'll take it gladly.

(_Liar_).

She starts to get up, not wanting to push her luck or piss him off anymore than she already has. Joel's hand rests lightly on her waist -not grabbing her and holding her down, never that-, stopping her entirely. "Ellie, it ain't like that," he says gently. "I ain't kickin' you out after I... what kinda man d'you take me for?" He shakes his head, mystified.

"But why...?"

"I meant what I said. It's just," he grimaces slightly, "_uncomfortable,_ is all."

It takes her a minute, but then, "_Oh,_" she says with quiet realization, the warmth that was just flowing through her gathering in her cheeks.

"Mhm."

"So when you said that thing about control..."

"_Yes_, Ellie." His voice is colored with exasperation, but he's wearing that little half-smile she loves so much.

"Huh," she muses, her own mouth tugging up into a grin. He raises an eyebrow at her. "Well, that's... really good to know," she says cheekily. He rolls his eyes heavenwards and sighs.

"Off," he commands, the effect ruined by the laughter he's trying to suppress.

She finds herself laughing, too, and decides to tease him a bit more. "But you said-"

"I changed my mind. Off, before I throw you."

She doesn't believe him for one minute, but she moves off him gingerly anyways, settling down beside him. He leans back, shifting so that he's lying more-or-less on the cot. "Lord grant me strength," he mutters, passing a hand over his face.

"Is this okay?" she asks, lying down beside him, "Because I really don't mind moving if you need me to."

He looks at her from between his fingers. "'S fine," he mutters thickly. She nods, relieved, and tries her best to leave as much space between them as she can. She ends up half-off the cot, and she must look ridiculous because Joel snorts with what she assumes is amusement. "C'mere," he says, "I ain't gonna bite." His voice loses some of its amusement, becoming unexpectedly serious.

She rolls her eyes. "I know that, idiot," she says," I just don't want to make you... _uncomfortable_."

That makes him laugh, but he ends it on a sigh that sounds almost... disappointed? "I'm fine," he assures her. Taking his word for it, she closes the space between them so she's curled right at his side. He's still tense, but one arm comes to rest on her waist and she takes that to mean that he wants her right where she is.

She rests her head back on his shoulder, biting back a grin as he presses a kiss to her forehead. They stay like that for a while, breathing in unison. There are a few moments when she thinks he's going to say something, when his grip on her waist tightens slightly or his breath stutters momentarily, but words don't come.

Her eyelids start to droop, lulled almost into unconsciousness by the familiar warmth and the rise and fall of his chest.

"Ellie?" he murmurs, pulling her back to the waking world.

"Yeah?" she answers, blinking her eyes blearily.

"I..." When he doesn't continue, she turns her head to look at him. She doesn't have words for the expression on his face, only knows that it makes her heart ache.

"I know," she says quietly. Something like surprise crosses his features, and she moves her shoulders in a sleepy approximation of a shrug. "Me, too. It's okay." She reaches out for his hand, tangling their fingers together clumsily. "I gotcha."


End file.
